John's Boys
by Wysawyg
Summary: Somewhere in a bar, Bobby Singer shares his thoughts of John Winchester and his boys. Tag to ‘Born under a Bad Sign’.


**Title:** John's Boys

**Author: **Wysawyg

**Summary: **Somewhere in a bar, Bobby Singer shares his thoughts of John Winchester. Tag to 'Born under a Bad Sign'.

**A/N:** This fic wrote itself during a boring day at work. Just wanted something to cover what must've run through Bobby's mind between Sam showing up and Dean showing up. Hopefully this is a good explanation. Reviews/Criticism etc gratefully accepted.

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John Winchester was a good man. You'll hear otherwise. A lot of people who didn't know him are quite happy to talk about him. A bad father, they'll say. Drank too much, they'll say. Obsessed with the hunt. They'll list off his flaws like they got their own private copy of 'Disliking John Winchester for Dummies'. But you take John Winchester at face value and you are missing about half of what makes him him.

John Winchester, they say, is like marmite: You either love him or you hate him. Bullshit, I say. John Winchester is someone that you have to love and hate in equal measure. Told him I'd shoot him if he ever disturbed my doorstep again once and that was when I was in a good mood.

But you have to know John Winchester to know why one of his boys, especially the youngest, turning up alone on my doorstep just for a chat is about as likely as a demon running around in a bright pink bikini protecting puppies and toddlers. So the minute I saw Sam Winchester standing there, without his older brother lurking around him like the air itself was liable to leap out and attack them, I knew something was deeply wrong. So I did what any hunter in his right mind would do, I spiked his beer.

I've been a hunter for longer than most of the pups out there have known 'bout demons and I've seen the sort of things which'd make most of them want to claw their own eyes out but I'll admit that the moment Sam Winchester spat out smoke, I felt like something had dug its hand into my stomach and twisted 'cos there ain't nothing in this world to prepare you for one of John Winchester's boys playing host to one of the unholy and then it felt like my stomach'd shrivelled up on itself when I realised the only way that Sam Winchester would be standing here smirking with a demon in him was if Dean Winchester had kicked the bucket (or maybe pulled out his pistol and shot the mother-loving crap out've the bucket is more appropriate).

You see, something I got to explain about John Winchester is that the biggest part of what made John Winchester John Winchester was that he was the father of Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester. Of course, no-one who knows John Winchester ever calls them by their given names, they were just John's boys. You got a problem and can't get John? Get John's boys. And whatever you do, never ever stand between John's boys or you are likely to end up shredded from both sides.

Never have figured out which one of them is more like John though. You'd think it'd be easy. I mean, Dean Winchester may have his momma's looks but he's his father's soldier from the top of his skull to the tips of his boots. But that's just it, he's his father's soldier, not so much his father's son. You ask Dean what he does, he'll say "Saving people, Hunting things," and that's the order it comes in. He loves the hunt, don't get me wrong but his list of priorities goes 'Sammy, Dad, Everyone else, Killing bad things' and then right at the bottom in tiny letters is the name 'Dean Winchester'.

Sammy however, and don't call him Sammy to his face unless you are either his brother , his Dad or just someone with a death wish, is a bit more selfish. Now, I don't mean that in a bad way. People always look upon selfishness as a bad trait but in the quantities that boy has it, it's good. Sam Winchester knows what he wants and he'll go after it and Heaven help anything from hell that stands in his way.

John Winchester is a selfish man in the same way as his youngest. Hunting with him was an experience, the adrenalin rush coupled with the fact you knew if he got any word of the thing that killed his wife, he'd disappear without even a phone call to say "Bye, hope you are still alive". Hell, he did it to his eldest and he loves his boys!

So, where was I? Yeah. With Sam Winchester chock full of demon right in front of me. Well, I did the only thing that a hunter in that situation could do, I exchanged witty repartee, can't have the demons thinking all that throwing us into walls is damaging the old grey matter, and then punched him out.

That left me with an unconscious Sam Winchester on the floor and a whole heap of problems. I reached out for my journal without thinking and began drawing the Key of Solomon on the ceiling, still not sure if I was going to use it because if I got that thing out of Sam Winchester and he is the one who killed his brother, it's likely Sam Winchester would find the nearest pistol and gulp down a bullet so I thought maybe I should just kill him now, save myself all the drawing and the pesky exorcism banter. Why is it that every demon thinks it's the first to come up with remarks like 'This won't hold me' or 'I'll crawl back out of hell.'

My brain might've been thinking it but my body knew better and carried on drawing those symbols and then hoisting all six foot everything of Sam into the chair. I've seen a few photos of Mary, the precious few that John'd ever let people see, but I swear she must've been an Amazon 'cos I don't know where that boy got his height from. Not many people can make all six foot one of Dean Winchester look like a midget.

I'd just fastened the last knot when I heard the purr of the engine outside and I know that sound as well as I know my own heartbeat. Barely even had time to get the door open before Dean Winchester was there, grinning at me as if he could see what I was thinking and mocked the very idea that he, Dean Fucking Winchester, could die. I could tell he was hurt from the way he held his arm but knew better than to ask about it. He strode into the room like he owned the place, that Winchester cocky grin reminding me so much of John that it almost hurt. He took one look at his brother tied to the chair and to the various exorcism bits that I'd laid about the place and turned to me, "Let's start this." So we did.

You say John Winchester is dead? Not while John's boys are living. Now buy me a drink, will ya? All this talking has parched my throat.


End file.
